Bitter Reality
by Voldemort Perfumes
Summary: James isn't deluding himself, really. And as for Alice...well what she doesn't remember certainly can't hurt her.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Twilight_ or anything that is owned by someone else. All I'm doing is drawing conclusions and writing lemony exchanges between the characters for my amusement and the amusement of others.

**Author's Note:** See my profile.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Present-Day (End of Twilight).<span>**

She sat on the chocolate-brown leather loveseat, her feet tucked under her lap as she was prone to do while sitting. Her face was passive, emotionless, yet deceiving. Inside, her mind was ticking away like a bomb, running theories, analyzing what she'd seen, and trying most desperately to remember these things for herself. So far the memories were like a brick wall; she simply couldn't see any farther back than when she'd awoken from her transformation. It really bothered her, because she felt incomplete without the knowledge.

Her husband stalked into the living room without being called; tall, leonine, and silent. His lanky form found a resting place next to her on the loveseat, his amber-coloured eyes boring into hers, trying to decipher the motives behind what she was feeling at the moment.

They were the only ones home at the moment, which was fairly intentional. She'd been dying to see what the video had said ever since Bella had told her that James had mentioned her on it. At that time she'd hoped that her past would finally be unraveled and visible, but now she was slightly disappointed, as it had only left her with more unanswered questions. The hardest thing though was knowing even where to begin. She knew about the asylum, and that had been bad enough.

Maybe if she watched it again...

Her hand found the remote, and played the rewound videotape, casting the remote aside once it began. Instead her free hand was claimed by her husband, and with the skin-to-skin contact, she felt the magnified effect of his talent wash over her, sending her into a physical state of calm. Unnatural calm.

They both turned their matching eyes to the television, him to watch it for the first time, her for the second. Both were equally attentive, however. As James first appeared on the screen, Jasper's eyebrows pulled together and narrowed, clearly showing his dislike for the other vampire. Alice's face was as smooth, a tabula rasa as she tried to pay attention to every little syllable, every gesture of body language.

The video went on horrifically for a few moments before it came to the point that the information it relayed became to specific to her and her life.

_"Before we begin..."_

_"I would just like to rub it in, just a little bit. The answer was there all along, and I was so afraid Edward would see that and ruin my fun. It happened once, oh, ages ago. The one and only time my prey escaped me," James paused, looking conflicted for a moment, probably thinking back on the particular time. He sounded regretful in the extreme, and most certainly scorned. Then after a second or so's passing, his face washed over, returning back to its more sinister make-up._

_"You see, the vampire who was so stupidly fond of this little victim made the choice that your Edward was too weak to make. When the old one knew I was after his little friend, he stole her from the asylum where he worked - I _never_ will understand the obsession some vampires seem to form with you humans - and as soon as he freed her he made her safe. She didn't even seem to notice the pain, poor little creature. She'd been stuck in that black hole of a cell for so long. A hundred years earlier and she would have been burned at the stake for her visions. In the nineteen-twenties it was the asylum and the shock treatments. When she opened her eyes, strong with her fresh youth, it was like she'd never seen the sun before. The old vampire made her a strong new vampire, and there was no reason for me to touch her then," James sighed. "I destroyed the old one in vengeance."_

_"Alice," Bella breathed, astonished._

_"Yes, your little friend. I _was_ surprised to see her in the clearing. So I guess her coven ought to be able to derive some comfort from this experience. I get you, but they get her. The one victim who escaped me, quite an honor, actually. And she did smell so delicious. I still regret that I never got to taste...She smelled even better than you do. Sorry - I don't mean to be offensive. You have a very nice smell. Floral, somehow..."_

_James took a step towards Bella, till he was just inches away from her. He lifted a lock of her chocolate-brown hair and sniffed at it delicately. Then he gently patted the strand back into place, disappointment flashing briefly across his countenance. His fingers traced across Bella's throat, and then up to caress her cheek gently with his thumb, his face curious._

_"No," he seemed to be reprimanding himself for something unknown, "I don't understand." He sounded part-desolate, part-frustrated all in one. James sighed. "Well, I suppose we should get on with it. And then I can call your friends and tell them where to find you, and my little message." His face cleared again as he prepared to strike the human girl for which he had transferred his earlier unsolved vendetta. She looked rightfully frightened as he began to circle her..._

"So...thoughts?" she inquired nervously, flipping off the T.V with her free hand. Her husband stared at the black screen, trying to come up with how he'd articulate what he wished to say about what they'd watched. It, his behaviour rather, made him think of several disorders. Psychological ones.

"I may be wrong, but does he seem...confused to you? Almost like he's lying about some details, but not really?" he settled.

"Maybe. I get the feeling that he'd be one prone to lying, enjoy it, but I know what you're saying. It's almost like he is confusing himself and someone else. For example, I think that he and this 'old vampire' may not be two different people at all," she explained.

"Differentiation of self," he murmured. "Sort of like depersonalization disorder, but not full-fledged. Usually the sufferers talk about themselves as a different person, as if they're watching themselves live from a distance, but sometimes he uses 'I', so it's not completely overtaken him."

"You're using your Psychology major, I see," she said, a smile breaking the monotony of contemplation. "You may just have something there."

"Too bad we took care of him. Or now that I've watched this, I guess I'm not so sorry he's dead. Though it would have been prudent to at least question him first, I admit. But we were in the moment, and my first instinct was to take him out. Are you sorry for that?"

"No. From what I've seen, I don't think he would have explained himself any more than he did on the video. So no, I'm not sorry."

* * *

><p><strong><span>1920: Biloxi, Mississippi.<span>**

He'd been down South for nearly a decade by this time, and yet this was the new time he was trying a new hunting tactic. Before James had been a traditionalist, hunting in the city or countryside, preying on humans who found themselves alone at the worst possible time, and in the path of a ravenous vampire. Sometimes he even fed when he wasn't particularly thirsty. The sport was what kept things entertaining.

This new tactic involved picking off the so-called undesirables of the world; the people no one would particularly miss. James remembered a time, back when he was human - which seemed a terribly long time ago when he thought on it currently - when he had felt that bitter feeling of being overlooked. Being plain, uninteresting...just another face in the madding crowd. But who was having the last laugh now? Who had the control? Who was going to live forever? Most certainly not them.

And there were certain compensations. Her, for one. James had found her in the asylum he had begun frequenting a short time ago, in one of the long-term wards. She was listed as suffering quote "prophetic" end quote delusions. Even with that information, the lush scent of her blood had been what had drawn him in initially. It was impossible to describe how much her blood appealed to him; it was stronger than any other prospective victim. And that had been before he'd even set eyes on the girl.

She incited lust in him, something he'd not felt for many years. Her body was petite yet curvy at the hips and breasts, slender in the extreme, and the girl's eyes were wide, expressive, and a sapphire-blue colour that he found intriguing. Her hair was shorn off quite short, yet the way it stuck out at the ends accentuated her delicate bone structure nicely, and though it wasn't considered stylish by the age they were in, James didn't disapprove of it.

All that little Mary Alice Brandon had done since he'd seen her was sit on her pallet in the corner, sometimes perched on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs desolately back and forth as they didn't quite touch the floor, or perhaps she might sit in the corner of the bed with her back against the stone wall, her arms curled around her bunched-up knees. At those times, her chin would rest meditatively on one knee, her eyes staring blankly off into space.

James would often visit her, claiming to be a distant cousin. The staff never questioned it. They didn't care about the patients in any shape or form.

He himself had two kinds of days, either good or bad. On good days he would fully enjoy the visits, and on the bad days, he would wonder why he didn't just feed on her right then and get it over with; move on already. It was almost like two different people in his mind. There was one half, that was James, and the other was the one he called "the old one," whom James differentiated from himself. James ruled the bad days, the other, the "old one" took over the good days spent with the girl.

The debate raging between the two different halves of himself never ceased during that time. It was only in later years that James seemed to recognize his mental disarray, but even to the death, he was never cured of this psychological oddity. He simply didn't care.

* * *

><p><strong><span>A Good Day: 1920: Biloxi.<span>**

On good days James would visit the girl, talk to her, and hope she took a liking to him. She was such a bright young woman, and well, she was easy on the eyes to put it lightly. He was not naive; he knew he didn't not love her. He _longed_ for her, but in a purely lustful way. Sometimes he thought of just taking her, possessing her completely, and keeping her with him forever and then some. Each visit though, he couldn't seem to bring himself to do it.

So he'd settle for conversing and occasionally touching her; she never seemed to mind. If he had to label what she thought of him, he'd probably admit that it was mix of interest and fear, for the girl was quite perceptive. She seemed to know that he was something not entirely human, something potentially dangerous. For her sake, she was lucky she was so damn enchanting, or her fate would have been decided a long time past.

"You are a very beautiful human, little Mary," he murmured, stroking two fingers along the side of the girl's jaw. Her expression altered slightly to one of distaste. "No?" James inquired. "You don't like that name? It's the one written on your door..." She shook her head. "I shall call you Alice then," James grinned, using the palm of his hand to cup her cheek gently and caress it. "You are very beautiful, Alice. I like you very much. You smell very nice to me. Do you want to know what you smell like?"

She looked up at him with curious blue eyes. He obliged the unspoken question.

"It's very... Well I'm not quite sure. The ocean, perhaps."

"But I don't wear perfume," she spoke for the first time, her forehead wrinkled with confusion. James chuckled darkly to himself, and Alice wondered why he found that funny. Was her voice strange or something? Was this man poking fun at her?

"It's not perfume, sweet girl, it's your blood," he clarified, grinning wolfishly as he traced a finger down her throat, pausing just over the pulse point where it tempted him the most. Then he looked up to find the girl did not look even a wink frightened at the declaration.

"I never knew blood smelled like the ocean," she murmured quietly. "I never knew it smelt of anything at all."

"Ah but to me, Alice, it does. You might say that I have a nose for these sorts of things," he said smoothly, only enjoying the pun on the inside. No need to scare the girl just yet. The _danse macabre_ had only just begun between the two of them. They had plenty of time for fright to foster.

Besides, he would rather save such unpleasant things for another day, another time.

* * *

><p><strong><span>A Day of Revelations: 1920: Biloxi.<span>**

He kept on visiting his strange little Alice for many more days to come, until James came to the realization that _it takes too much energy to be against something unless it's really important. _The "old one" part of his personality told him this, and so he decided he would steal away the girl and change her. Then she would never leave him.

It was a pleasing thought, but not nearly as pleasant as what he wished to try with her beforehand.

When he had made up his mind to play this game with her, he'd not beaten around the bush with it. James had taken her from the asylum in the midst of the night when the usually-lax security was even more unwitting than usual, sleeping in most cases.

He'd deposited her on the floor in a nearby woodland clearing, eager to begin the game right away. James was never a great one for virtues such as patience or humility. Or any virtue at all, really. He was a voluntary sinner, to tell the truth. He reveled in such things.

They tangled in the grass, him for dominance, her to be rid of his oppressive weight. He took it in stride, simplifying things by pinning her arms over her head effortlessly with one hand while the other trailed up her pale thigh, slipping under the hospital gown she'd seemingly always worn. Her breathing grew more ragged as he made contact with her undergarments, smiling with his success. He pulled down the step-ins and tossed them aside and out of his way.

Once the obstacle was removed, James flipped up the skirt of the gown, watching a faint blush creep onto Alice's porcelain face. The scent of the blood pooling in her cheeks was tempting, so tempting, but he steeled himself. Pleasure first, then more pleasure. He must maintain some semblance of order, after all.

Next he freed his aching arousal from the confines of his trousers. Then he readjusted himself, pushing her legs wider apart so that she might accommodate him between her slender, inviting thighs. With the brief glance that he spared her face, she looked anxious, as if she didn't know what to expect. Poor, simple creature, James thought errantly as he prepared to enjoy himself. That place he'd spirited her from, that had done this to her. Without it, he had no doubts she would be a bright, vibrant sort of creature.

He wasted no time, sheathing himself within her completely, and hearing the shriek of protest when he broke through her barrier. Her sex was impossibly warm around him, and the feeling was incomparable. He began thrusting in and out of her rapidly, having not a whit of care for making it last. He was incredibly addicted to the feeling, and if he wasn't so drawn to the siren scent of her blood, so close at hand, he might have kept this up for hours on end.

It surprised him when her arms clamped onto his shoulders, clinging for dear life, but not enough to stop him. He pushed more forcefully, and she gasped out a breath, her eyes closed tightly. He could be wrong, but he thought for the briefest moments that she was...enjoying this. The thought excited him boundlessly. He rammed into her again, and felt the completely indescribable feeling of her clenching around him, and the soft moan that accompanied it.

He kept at it for another minute or so, trying to hold it in, but when she bucked her hips up to meet his, he came hard, letting out a low growl of pleasure as he found his release. Not one for wasting time on stupid sentiments, he pulled out abruptly, immediately missing the feel of her warm little pussy wrapped around his cock. Frowning slightly, he tucked himself back into his trousers and fixed her skirt so that it lay flat.

Then like the possessive animal he was, he trapped her beneath him once again, inhaling deeply the intoxicating scent of her blood, which made his eyes roll back in his head when he contemplated just leaning in and taking it. A little taste, that's all.

Unable to contain himself any longer, he bit into the side of her neck, just missing the jugular vein. Her blood gushed forth into his mouth, and James was transported to a high plane of feeding bliss as he feasted on her. She grew weaker and weaker against him until he finally willed himself to let go in the nick of time. Had he fed from her any more, the girl probably would have died. Instead though, he had just given her a most precious and morbid gift. The gift of eternal life.

Wrenching himself away from the blood, he stopped breathing in order to regain control of himself. He moved off of her, and she took to life immediately, moving to get away from him even as she whimpered with the pain of the changing. Her whole demeanour had changed the second he'd fed from her. No longer was she the spry creature he'd been pleasuring himself with, but a scared little girl who had just discovered her lover is a monster.

She crawled against the soddy ground, clawing her way like a dying lioness, breathing heavily like someone on their last leg of life. He watched, detached as she went, still undecided as if he'd go to pull her back or not. Her motions were sluggish yet determined, her underdeveloped muscles straining with the effort of the escape.

He got a perverse sort of pleasure watching her crawl her way away from him when he knew it would be only too easy to prevent her from leaving. She was trying very hard not to scream, he could tell. He knew the venom was taking the course, as her heart was working overtime as the stuff infected her bloodstream. It was only a matter of time now.

"Soon Alice... Just try to close your eyes; you'll be mine in a matter of hours," he whispered darkly after her.

She didn't even flinch as she continued in her escape. He let her go.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Near-Present-Day: In The Ballet Studio.<span>**

Seeing Isabella Swan hunched up on the floor, screaming with the agony he was inflicting on her...that brought memories, and not necessarily ones he particularly relished. It reminded him of another scared young woman from ages ago, frightened of him and what he could do to her. It made him rather uncomfortable. And that was unacceptable. He was in control of this particular situation, and _that's_ how it should be.

"Before we begin..." he said, his eyes glinting menacingly as he stared down the brunette with almost believable-bravado. She trembled on the floor, her eyes affixed to him as she seemed to have given up hope of escaping. As she very well should. The victim was not escaping this time. He would not allow it.

"I would just like to rub it in, just a little bit. The answer was there all along, and I was so afraid Edward would see that and ruin my fun. It happened once, oh, ages ago. The one and only time my prey escaped me," James paused.

Twas a bitter moment when he'd let her escape. Even today, he wasn't sure if it was her revulsion and fright of him by the time he bit her, or that he had simply grown bored with her once he'd had sated his two desires, that of her blood and her body. Or maybe it was a mix of those two reasons. Who really knows, yet now he'd come to regret it. Just think of all these years they could have been together, screwing and living freely. She would have never succumbed to that disgusting diet of animal's blood, never would have married that blonde fellow she'd been with back at the baseball field in Washington, and best of all, she would be _his._ That was his greatest regret.

"You see, the vampire who was so stupidly fond of this little victim made the choice that your Edward was too weak to make. When the old one knew I was after his little friend, he stole her from the asylum where he worked - I never will understand the obsession some vampires seem to form with you humans - and as soon as he freed her he made her safe. She didn't even seem to notice the pain, poor little creature. She'd been stuck in that black hole of a cell for so long. A hundred years earlier and she would have been burned at the stake for her visions. In the nineteen-twenties it was the asylum and the shock treatments. When she opened her eyes, strong with her fresh youth, it was like she'd never seen the sun before. The old vampire made her a strong new vampire, and there was no reason for me to touch her then," James sighed. "I destroyed the old one in vengeance."

Over the years, he'd come to think of his changing of her as a folly, a stupid fondness. It was his way of dealing. But Edward and his little lover didn't need to know the truth. Let them think it was some other, unknown vampire who'd changed her. The true situation would be beyond anyone's comprehension but James himself. As for the "obsession some vampires seem to form with you humans," well that was something they most certainly didn't need to know. The "family" didn't need to know how much James had obsessed over their daughter. In James' way of thinking, they didn't deserve the truth. It might incline them to think of him in a positive light, that he'd "loved" her or something, which was clearly not the case. James may be in mental disarray, but he'd never deluded himself as some do.

And besides, them seeing him an possible light at all...well that would hardly be conducive to them wanting to fight him. Which was what he was going for, after all. A little fun, a little game, as he thought of it. Edward especially would be a worthy opponent for the game of all games. James was rather looking forward to it.

"Alice," Isabella breathed, astonished.

"Yes, your little friend. I was surprised to see her in the clearing. So I guess her coven ought to be able to derive some comfort from this experience. I get you, but they get her. The one victim who escaped me, quite an honor, actually. And she did smell so delicious. I still regret that I never got to taste...She smelled even better than you do. Sorry - I don't mean to be offensive. You have a very nice smell. Floral, somehow..."

It was nice scent, but it could hardly hold a candle to what he'd tasted when he'd finally gotten his hands on Alice. What he regretted is that he never got to taste _more_. All. To drain her dry. But he'd made his choice, and there was no going back. He hadn't lied when he said he'd been surprised to see Alice in the clearing, which was the complete truth, which was odd coming from James, but no matter. It had only served to make him want to stage a fight with her family more. Irrationally he dreamed of ridding them all from the equation, and taking hold of what should have been his from the beginning: her.

Bella was still frightened of him, and her fear seemed to be enhanced by the mention of her death, of his thirst to taste her. Painfully it dragged him back into more memories, and for a moment James forgot where he was. To him, he was back in the dark cell in Biloxi, watching Alice while she stared back at him, the non-human mystery figure. Nostalgically he felt the urge to touch her like he usually did on his visits, and so he reached out, but found he wasn't close enough to Alice where she was waiting on her pallet.

James took a step towards Isabella, till he was just inches away from her. He lifted a lock of her chocolate-brown hair and sniffed at it delicately. Then he gently patted the strand back into place, disappointment flashing briefly across his countenance. His fingers traced across Bella's throat, and then up to caress her cheek gently with his thumb, his face curious.

He felt oddly despondent when he snapped back into reality. It wasn't Alice at all. It was just this petty, frightened excuse of a human cowering at his feet. She didn't smell the same, she was frightened when he touched her, and she _felt_ different under his hand. Her hair was too long, her scent too sweet and overpowering. It just wasn't Alice, no matter how much James wished it was so that he might relive some of his happier moments from the past.

"No," he reprimanded himself from where he'd left off, "I don't understand." James sighed. "Well, I suppose we should get on with it. And then I can call your friends and tell them where to find you, and my little message." His face cleared again as he prepared to strike the human girl for which he had transferred his earlier unsolved vendetta. She looked rightfully frightened as he began to circle her...

It was a bitter reality he was faced with, to never see Alice again. He wasn't going to hold back on Isabella. After all, that was where he'd gone wrong the first time.

He really should have stopped her leaving.

A few minutes later, when Isabella's so-called protectors arrived, James would muse that perhaps it wouldn't have made a difference, because then she who had been the object of his unusual affection ended this matter completely.

She ripped his head clean off.


End file.
